


the road not taken looks real good now

by thesunandthestars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Snowed In, and only one bed, hallmark christmas vibes, some good ol’ fashioned pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunandthestars/pseuds/thesunandthestars
Summary: “I think we’re going to have to stay here,” she decides finally. “At least until the storm clears up.”Jughead, who’d come to stand beside her at the window, nods. “Good plan. You’d never find my body if Veronica found out I’d let you drive home in this weather.”That earns a slip of a smile from Betty. “She might killbothof us if we’re late for the wedding tomorrow. Hopefully we can get out of here before that happens.”Jughead grins. “Can’t shirk your maid of honor duties,” he agrees.——As Veronica’s maid of honor, it’s Betty’s job to decorate the Lodge family Christmas cabin for the newlyweds. But when a surprise snowstorm forces Betty and her childhood best friend Jughead to spend the night in the blatantly romantic setting, will long-buried feelings finally surface?A trope-filled holiday adventure for my lovely Bughead Secret Santa giftee @soyforramen!
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 22
Kudos: 78
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Secret Santa





	the road not taken looks real good now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soyforramen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/gifts).



> A belated Merry Christmas / happy holidays to @soyforramen! I’m your Bughead Secret Santa. :)
> 
> I really enjoyed getting to know you and your holiday traditions over the past few weeks. I hope your season has been, and continues to be, fun and festive!
> 
> As requested, this fic is loosely based on a Hallmark Christmas movie (specifically, The Christmas Cottage, which, I have to admit, I’ve never seen) for maximum winter holiday vibes. Enjoy the pining, bed-sharing, and overall festive fluff! <3
> 
> (Title is from ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift. And thank you to the lovely @ponytailplaymate for beta-ing!)

“A whole tree? That’s a little excessive, B.”

Betty shoots a mildly affronted look in the direction of her phone, mounted to the right of the steering wheel. “It’s Christmas. You have to have a tree,” she insists. “Don’t worry, the one I bought isn’t too big.”

Over the phone, Veronica sighs. “I love you, Betty, but you’re taking this much too seriously.”

“It’s your _wedding_ ,” Betty retorts. She turns the windshield wipers up a notch to combat the increasingly heavy snowfall. “Your family’s tradition.”

Veronica’s eye roll is practically audible. “Archie and I are only spending the night at the cabin because my abuela insisted—and because, if we did, she promised not to be too upset that we’re spending the rest of the honeymoon in the French Riviera. I’d much rather flit around Saint-Tropez than be surrounded by tinsel and little elves for an entire week.” She pauses. “Please tell me elves aren’t part of your decoration plans.”

Betty huffs good-naturedly. “No, Ronnie, they aren’t. And I’m not gonna tell you any more; this should be a surprise.” She flicks her right blinker on, prepared to turn onto the hidden road that leads to the Lodge family’s Christmas cabin in upstate New York (appropriately nicknamed Lodge Lodge).

Per a Lodge family tradition dating back generations, Veronica and Archie, two of Betty’s closest friends, are to be married on Christmas Day. The tradition also dictates that any couple who shares the cabin at Christmastime will have true, eternal love. It _is_ a sweet idea, Betty has to admit—and she’s a sucker for the holiday season. Even though driving three hours through the heavy snow is not Betty’s idea of the perfect Christmas Eve, she’s long since accepted she’d do just about anything for Veronica. 

They’d met a few weeks into their freshman year at Columbia, after Betty’s roommate had dragged her to a party hosted by Veronica’s then-boyfriend. The two had been from vastly different worlds, but Veronica had emerged from preparatory school in the big city with admirably low levels of vanity, and Betty—well, Betty can get along fine with just about anyone. With Veronica, however, a genuine friendship had formed, and now Betty’s both her maid of honor and the person responsible for ensuring Lodge Lodge is ready for the newlyweds.

“You’re the absolute best, Bettykins,” Veronica says, drawing Betty’s attention back to her phone. “I mean it. But are you absolutely sure you don’t want help? I’m sure I could convince our beanie-wearing best man to drive up there.”

“Jughead?” Betty shakes her head amusedly, even though she knows Veronica can’t see. “Good luck with that. He’s just not a Christmassy kind of person.”

“But he is a Betty kind of person.” The teasing lilt to Veronica’s voice makes Betty’s stomach flip. “He’d drop anything for you.”

“Well, yeah,” Betty counters, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “He’s one of my oldest friends.” She, Jughead, and Archie go back to the sandbox days, so to speak. Growing up together in a small town, the three of them had been practically inseparable all through high school, even as Archie took up football and Betty filled her schedule with tutoring and cheerleading and student council. In their sophomore year, she’d managed to rope Jughead into running the school newspaper with her, an activity that had drawn them even closer than before. 

Sometimes, Betty would glance over at Jughead typing away at his laptop, his long fingers flexing over the keyboard methodically, and something in her stomach would tighten; other times, it was merely the sliver of a grin on his lips that would send her heart racing. She’d failed to act on these feelings, however—maybe it was the fear of rejection, or the nagging thought that Jughead’s evident lack of interest in, well, _anyone_ meant he certainly wouldn’t be interested in _her_ —and when high school came to a close, they parted ways as nothing more than friends. Only a few weeks ago were they reunited, as Jughead made the trip over from Iowa to assist with wedding planning (at Veronica’s behest, obviously), and it took Veronica a mere ten minutes of knowing him to determine that he “totally has a thing for you, Bettykins.”

(Does he, though? Betty finds it hard to believe. But then again, Veronica is rarely wrong about these kinds of things.)

Veronica hums. “That man has got it bad for you, B. He thinks he’s difficult to read, what with all that sarcasm and flannel, but I know pining when I see it.”

Cheeks now moderately flushed, Betty bites her lip against a reply. “Alright, I’m here,” she says instead, pulling up to the cabin and stepping out of the car. She’s greeted with an icy blast of wind, the snow now falling in sheets, and Betty shivers in her thick winter coat. “Damn,” she murmurs. Louder, she says, “I should go, V. The weather is getting worse and I don’t want to get stuck here overnight.”

“You’d better not,” Veronica tsks, a teasing sound. “I can’t get married tomorrow without my bestie. Drive safe.” And with that, Veronica hangs up, leaving Betty alone in the middle of nowhere with a heavy box in her arms and a chill in her bones.

It takes a good ten minutes to haul all of the decorations into the cabin, but before long Betty is hard at work. From her phone’s speakers, Mariah Carey croons, _All I want for Christmas is you_ , and okay, as cliché as it seems, getting married on Christmas Day is pretty damn cute. It just seems fitting—it’s the most wonderful time of the year, after all.

She just hopes she can get out of here before she’s snowed in until the new year.

———

Halfway through “Jingle Bell Rock”, there’s a knock at the door.

Betty’s frozen for a beat, hands hovering above where she’s fixing a string of fir sprigs along the fireplace mantle. She racks her brain for a possible explanation as to who’s out there—there aren’t any neighbors in the immediate vicinity, and the only people who know she’s here are Veronica and Archie (and possibly Jughead, since he’s been involved in the wedding planning to a surprising degree).

But why would any of them venture all the way out here?

“Just a minute!” she finally calls, and gently lays down the strand of sprigs. The decorations are almost done, and the cabin looks quite nice, if she does say so herself—classy and festive but not too over-the-top. (No elves or tinsel in sight.)

When she opens the door she’s greeted by the sight of a rosy-cheeked, snow-covered Jughead, his hands tucked into his pockets and a sheepish smile on his lips. “Hey,” he says casually, as if it’s totally normal for him to show up unannounced at their friend’s cabin in the middle of—in the middle of a _blizzard_. 

“Jug! Oh my God.” She ushers him inside, shutting the door immediately after him to keep out the cold. Somehow, in the past few hours, the heavy snowfall has upgraded to what looks to be a genuine winter storm. How she hadn’t noticed the wind howling and battering against the windows is beyond her. “What…what are you doing here?”

He looks slightly uncomfortable standing there, like he’s out of his element surrounded by all this classic-chic holiday decor. “Veronica texted me, said you could use some help.” Jughead looks around the room, taking in the ribbons, ornaments, and lights Betty’s already put up. “But, uh, it seems like you’ve got it handled.”

“Yeah, but you drove all this way,” Betty says, and then shoots him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure I can find something for you to do. Here, take off your coat and help me with the, um…” Her gaze lands on an unopened box, and she gestures toward it. “The fake snow.”

Shrugging off his coat, Jughead cocks an eyebrow. “Fake snow?” he quips. “Isn’t there already enough outside?”

She chuckles at that, suddenly feeling shy. God, it’s been almost a decade since high school and he still makes her heart go all soft and fluttery. “I don’t know, I thought it would be a nice touch.”

“It is,” he replies, and she can tell he’s being honest as his gaze lands on the tree to his left, now decked with white and gold. (It only took a little bit of finagling to get it into the cabin.) “This all looks really nice. Very Veronica,” he adds, flicking one of the gold ornaments with a wry grin.

Betty smiles back, the praise coloring her cheeks. “Good.” She clasps her hands together in front of her chest. “So, you ready to start decorating?” 

He makes a little noise of amusement at that and begins rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, the motion clearly exaggerated. “I should’ve known you’d put me to work immediately.” 

Betty hauls a box into her arms, ponytail swinging behind her as she playfully counters, “That _is_ why you came all the way up here, isn’t it?”

There’s a beat of silence where his expression seems to slide off his face, leaving just the raw emotion underneath, before his eyebrow arches up once more and he replies, “Of course. Decorating a friend’s honeymoon cabin is totally on my bucket list.”

She snorts. How she’d gone all these years without his (strangely endearing) sarcasm, she’ll never know. “Hand me those scissors, will you?”

He complies, crouching beside her as she slices the box open and starts pulling out thick strands of fluff. “This stuff kinda just looks like fake spiderwebs.”

For that, he gets a gentle slap on the knee. “Oh, stop it, Jug,” Betty admonishes, the smile clear in her voice. “This is perfectly acceptable fake snow. Less messy than that powder stuff. Now help me out.”

“Whatever you say, Betts,” he teases, to which she shakes her head in fond annoyance and hops up to adorn the fireplace mantle with her own bundle. The cotton snow twines nicely around the fir sprigs she’d already attached. With the fake snow and a couple of ribbons, she thinks, it’ll be perfect.

“Where do you want this?”

Betty glances back over her shoulder. Jughead’s still crouched on the ground, pulling at the fluffy material like taffy. “Under the tree would be great.” She waves in that direction. “There should be a tree skirt in one of these boxes. Get that out and then put some snow around it. Please.”

Behind her, Jughead chuckles, and she hears him shuffling through a box. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gnaws at her bottom lip, feeling a little guilty for ordering him around. “Thank you,” she tells him, spinning around to look him in the eye. “Seriously. I know I can be a little…obsessive about these things, so I appreciate you being such a good sport.”

“Betty.” He leans forward onto his elbows. “It’s okay. You’re trying to do something nice for your friends.” She can’t tell if the twinkle in his eyes is a reflection of the lights glowing around them or if it’s just _him_. “You’re a giver, Betts. Don’t ever apologize for that.” 

The earnestness in his voice is too much, too much of a reminder of the way he used to look at her—the way he’s looking at her now, all soft and fond. She looks away. God, it’s like she’s a teenager all over again. “Thanks. Um, try that one.”

He pushes aside the box he’s been rooting through and opens the one she’s pointing at. “Yeah. Right here,” he confirms, holding up the delicate white and gold tree skirt. His gaze lingers on her for a beat, searching, but when he opens his mouth again, it’s to say, “You know, I’ve never used one of these before. We rarely ever had a _tree_ back at the trailer, so…”

A soft, melancholy sigh escapes her at the mention of his childhood. She remembers it all too well—as a kid, she’d been confused when her father had warned her to stay out of “that part of town”; as a teenager, she’d acted nonchalant when her mother had questioned why she had a sleeping bag laid out on her bedroom floor. “Well,” she says, shaking herself out of these thoughts, “you must have a tree back in Iowa.”

Jughead gives her a look that clearly says, _you know me better than that_. “No, I don’t have a tree.” At her incredulous (and okay, slightly judgmental) look, he continues. “I live in a shitty little apartment by myself. I just don’t see the point.”

“You don’t have to be a grinch all your life, you know.” She raises an eyebrow, amusement tugging at her lips. “I _will_ convert you. Mark my words.”

He snorts. “You can try. You’re not the only one who’s too stubborn for their own good.”

Betty gawks in faux-offense, but the expression quickly morphs into one of playful competition. “You know better than to underestimate me, Jughead Jones.”

He doesn’t smile back, but she can see the mirth in his eyes. “That I do.”

———

“I think this is the last one, Betts.”

Betty glances over at Jughead, wobbling unsteadily from her perch on the kitchen chair she’s using to reach the higher branches of the tree. He’s holding up the intricately designed (and cheap—don’t tell Veronica) gold star she’d found to top the tree. “Great. Hand it to me?”

He passes the star to Betty, who’s forced to rise onto her tip-toes to fit it over the top branch. “Perfect!” A loud thump against the window startles her, and she keels a little too far to the right before losing her balance altogether.

Behind her, Jughead is quick to act, hands landing in the curve of her waist to steady her. “You okay?”

She exhales in a rush, heart pounding with adrenaline from the sudden movement—or maybe it’s the warmth of Jughead’s palms against her thin wool sweater. She turns, and his hands drop from her waist. “Yeah,” she breathes. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” It’s almost a whisper, and he seems to have shrunk in on himself, awkwardness settling over them once again.

“Right,” Betty says, and then winces when there’s another ominous thud from outside—probably the wind tossing things around. “It sounds like it’s getting worse out there. Should we call it a day?”

When Jughead nods, she hops down from the chair and heads to the window to observe the weather. It’s…it’s bad. There’s at least a foot of snow on the ground, more falling, and the wind is beating relentlessly at the windows. Through the storm and the late afternoon dusk, Betty can barely see their cars parked a few hundred feet away.

“I think…” She fishes her phone out of her jacket pocket to check the weather radar. No end to the storm in sight. And with these kinds of conditions, the roads are most likely closed. She worries at her lip in thought. Surely there’s no harm in staying the night?

“I think we’re going to have to stay here,” she decides finally. “At least until the storm clears up.”

Jughead, who’d come to stand beside her at the window, nods. “Good plan. You’d never find my body if Veronica found out I’d let you drive home in this weather.”

That earns a slip of a smile from Betty. “She might kill _both_ of us if we’re late for the wedding tomorrow. Hopefully, we can get out of here before that happens.”

Jughead grins. “Can’t shirk your maid of honor duties,” he agrees. 

“Or _your_ best man duties,” she reminds him, looking down at her phone once again. “Alright, I’m gonna call Veronica and let her know what’s going on.” 

Veronica picks up on the second ring. “B! I was about to call you. Are you still at the cabin? The weather up there looks atrocious.”

“It’s pretty crazy,” Betty agrees, having wandered into the hallway to make the call. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re pretty much snowed in at this point. I’m hoping the storm will let up with enough time for us to make it to the wedding.”

“Us?” Veronica sounds much too smug and not at all surprised. Did she—? “So Jughead made it. Good.”

“Yeah.” Feeling a rush of heat in her cheeks, Betty presses the palm of her free hand against her thigh. “He mentioned you texted him, told him to come up here and help me.”

There’s a brief pause. Betty imagines Veronica is determining whether to say anything more revealing than, “I did.”

“Well,” Betty mutters, almost to herself, “you’d be _delighted_ to know we’ll probably have to spend the night.”

“Just don’t be late to the wedding,” Veronica reminds her, a hint of a smile still in her words. The connection crackles and Betty’s gaze turns instinctively to the window, still partially visible around the corner, and grimaces at the sight of the whirling snow. “Have fun tonight.”

Betty groans, knowing full well her friend is wearing the most devious of grins. “Bye, V.”

“Love you!” Veronica even adds in a loud air kiss for good measure.

Betty clicks her tongue fondly. “Love you too, V.” For all her impish schemes and her well-intentioned meddling, Veronica really is a wonderful friend.

She finds Jughead still hovering by the window as if he’s waiting for her, which doesn’t help to rein in the butterflies taking up residence in the pit of her stomach. (What a weird phrase, she thinks.) “Now, if we’re staying the night,” she begins, now in complete problem-solving mode, “I’m not sure there’s any food here. Archie and Ronnie are bringing up their own stuff after the wedding, so I didn’t think to bring anything with me.”

“I’m sure I have something in my car,” Jughead assures her, smiling a little sheepishly. “Still got that particular character flaw.”

She giggles. She has fond memories of his insatiable appetite—evenings at Pop’s, playfully batting Jughead’s hands away as he’d try to steal her fries; weekends when she’d bake him a tray of cookies and they’d be gone within the hour. “Well, lucky for us,” she teases. “I’ll head to the kitchen to see if I can find anything edible.”

Once Jughead’s out the door with one last “Be careful” from Betty, she begins rooting through the pantry and cabinets for anything left over from past guests. It seems as though the cabin hasn’t been occupied in a while—the only edible thing she finds is a couple of packets of powdered hot chocolate mix. (It strikes her as odd that any of the Lodges would drink hot cocoa—they’re definitely more of a high-class, alcoholic beverage kind of family—but she’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.)

Betty pulls two mugs out of the cupboard—Jughead will definitely want some for himself—and goes to work. She returns to the living room, careful not to tip the full, steaming mugs of hot chocolate, just as the front door slips shut behind Jughead. “I found hot cocoa,” she informs him, holding up the mugs.

“Mmm.” Jughead grins. “And I found some granola bars”—he grimaces and she chuckles—“and some cheese puffs.”

She wrinkles her nose, mostly in jest. “How nutritious.” There’s no reason for them to sit at the dining room table as if they’re having a real meal, so they just flop down on the couch in the living room with the bag of cheese puffs between them. With the mug of hot cocoa warming her palms and the cheery decorations around them, it really does feel like Christmas Eve.

“This is nice,” she admits after a comfortable silence. “I usually spend Christmas alone or with my parents—and you know how that goes—so it’s a nice change of pace to have some more”—she bumps his shoulder with hers, lips curving at the corners—“pleasant company.”

Mouth occupied by cheese puffs, Jughead pumps his eyebrows at Betty. Her smile only grows wider. “Definitely,” he agrees once he’s swallowed. “I’ve missed you, Cooper. Seven years is a long time to go without your partner-in-crime.”

She chuckles at that, but quickly becomes solemn. It really has been too long. She feels kind of guilty, really, for not trying harder to stay in touch. They’ve texted, albeit not so much in recent years, and they FaceTimed a few times in college, but that’s not nearly enough when it comes to the person who once knew her better than anyone. 

“It is,” she agrees, gaze fixing on the window straight ahead. Their reflections are illuminated by the softly twinkling Christmas lights, smoothing all their edges and leaving just the hazy aura of Betty and Jughead and their comfortable companionship.

“It’s not set in stone yet,” Jughead pipes up, seemingly dragging himself out of deep thought, “so don’t get too excited.” His lips quirk upward at that. “But I’m thinking of moving back to New York.”

She gasps. The hot chocolate in her mug sloshes, almost spilling all over her lap. “You are?”

He huffs a short noise of amusement through his nose. “I’m _thinking_ about it.”

Betty sinks back into the couch cushions with a pleased sigh. “I know, I know. But that’s great, Juggie!” She beams, bottom lip sliding between her teeth. “Archie will be so excited.”

Jughead hums. “Just Archie, huh?” he replies, arching an eyebrow pointedly.

“And me.” The longer she looks into those blue eyes, the more she’s reminded of all of their _almost_ —late nights in the _Blue and Gold_ office, his hand brushing hers as he reaches for the next day’s print; early mornings in her bedroom, rolling over to find him still sprawled out on the floor, hair mussed with sleep and lashes resting on his cheeks and just…just _inches_ from her fingertips.

But just like all those other times, Betty looks away, heart caught in her throat and mind caught in a ferocious battle—a battle she never wins.

“Tell me about Iowa,” she says finally, voice smooth and calm and not at all indicative of what’s simmering beneath the surface. He complies. For the next few hours, they trade stories, filling each other in on what they’ve missed. Betty learns that he works as a freelance writer to pay the bills while he finishes his manuscript, and that there’s a diner down the street from his apartment that makes excellent burgers—“but nothing rivals Pop’s,” he assures her. He likes Iowa well enough, he says, but he isn’t particularly attached to any part of the city. It’s never really felt like home.

She wishes she could tell him she feels the same way. And she does, in a way. She loves New York City, loves the vibrancy and the way she discovers something new every day, but part of her had departed for Iowa with Jughead the summer after graduation and it only seems to be sliding back into place now that he’s sitting next to her once more, his familiar warmth close and comforting.

“If you decide for sure that you’re moving back,” Betty tells him, knees now fully drawn up onto the cushion between them, “I’m sure we could get a place together somewhere.” She grins. “It’d be just like old times.”

“My apartment is a floor above a Chinese restaurant, Betts. I'm accustomed to a life of luxury.” The curve of his teasing smile makes hers even wider. “Sleeping on your floor just isn’t gonna cut it for me anymore.”

She means to giggle at that, but it turns into a yawn that seemingly overtakes her entire body. “Sorry. I guess all that decorating wore me out.”

“You were working hard,” he agrees. “And it was a good segue, anyway. Let’s go find out what the sleeping situation looks like.”

“Oh,” Betty says, even as she stands and follows him down the hallway, because she’d already decorated the bedroom before Jughead had arrived, so she knows for a fact that there’s only one. And that she’d decorated it with Archie and Veronica’s nuptials in mind.

Cheeks burning, she watches Jughead’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight—scented candles, silk sheets, rose petals. “Well,” he says slowly, not meeting her eye, “I can’t promise the rose petals will make it through the night if we try to sleep there.”

She blinks, but he opens his mouth again before she can. “O-or just you. I can take the floor. For old times’ sake.” He winks at the end, but it’s half-hearted, and it leaves them both drifting in stilted silence.

It takes a beat for Betty to come to her senses. “No, I can’t…I can’t make you sleep on the floor. We can share. It’s fine.” She’s grateful that the lights are turned down low, or else he might notice the flush on her cheeks. She spins, trying to wrap her head around the situation. “Um, alright. We don’t have pajamas, which is…okay, I guess. Or toothbrushes, but maybe there’s some in the bathroom? Unused ones, I mean. I highly doubt it, but—”

“Hey.” His hand lands on her shoulder, the warmth of it reassuring. She exhales a rush of air. “Slow down. We’ll figure it out.” As flustered as she is, she does her best to keep her eyes on him. “Why don’t you get, uh, as undressed as you need to”—he clears his throat—“and I’ll check the bathroom for toothbrushes and toothpaste.”

Betty finds herself nodding. “Okay,” she says, or maybe she just thinks it, but in any case, Jughead slips out of the room and closes the door behind him.

 _Oh my God._

Gaze trained on the floor and away from the rose petals and mood lighting, Betty tugs her sweater over her head. She’s got a tank top on underneath, but it’s kind of skimpy and there’s no way she’s wearing it without a bra on. There’s also no way she’s sleeping _with_ a bra on. And her jeans are a definite no as well, but then she’d be in just her underwear, and when was the last time she shaved her legs—?

“Betty?” She starts at the sound of Jughead’s voice on the other side of the closed door. “Can I come in?”

“Um.” She pulls her sweater back on and smooths it out. “Yeah.”

When he opens the door, he’s clenching his jaw, probably to steel himself for whatever sight he’d expected to find. But Betty looks the same as she had when he left, perhaps with slightly more messy hair, so his face relaxes a bit. “Good news: I found some toothpaste and a toothbrush. Bad news: I only found one toothbrush.”

She exhales, and for a reason that’s utterly beyond her, it evolves into a laugh. “Okay. Great. So, I’m okay with sharing, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah.” Jughead smiles weakly. “Yeah, that’s fine. You…” He gestures vaguely toward her. “You’re gonna sleep in jeans?”

Betty opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “I thought I’d change after I brushed my teeth. You know.”

He nods absentmindedly. “Yeah. Okay. You can brush first.”

She does, and for two whole minutes, she stares at her reflection in the mirror, willing her cheeks to return to a normal color and her heartbeat to return to a normal rhythm. _It’s just Jughead_ , she thinks. But it’s never been _just Jughead_. He’s always made her feel like this—giddy, lightheaded, petrified. Warm, comforted, safe. Loved.

After brushing her teeth (and splashing plenty of water on her face), she returns to the bedroom. Jughead brushes past her wordlessly, and she’s left to once again debate whether she should take off her bra and jeans. She eventually decides yes on both fronts—she’ll be more comfortable that way, and it’s really not a big deal that they’re sharing a bed. They’re adults; they’ll be able to keep their hands to themselves. Or maybe they won’t, she thinks, drawing her lip between her teeth. That would be okay too.

 _Get it together_ , she internally scolds herself, and slips under the covers as Jughead returns from the bathroom. This time, he’s deliberately avoiding her gaze, and she turns away as he undresses, climbing into bed beside her in a t-shirt and boxers.

Outside, the wind howls. Betty shivers, drawing the covers up to her chin. 

“You cold?” Jughead rolls over to face her, voice already thick with exhaustion. “You can wear my flannel. If you want.”

“Okay,” she whispers. Even in the dark, her heart is thumping insistently. “Can you…?”

The bed shifts, and a beat later, he’s holding the flannel out to her. Gratefully, she takes it, sliding her arms through the sleeves and pulling it tight around her. The flannel is warm and smells like him, familiar and yet richer than she remembers.

Curled up on her side, breathing slowed, Betty murmurs into the dark, “G’night.”

Behind her, Jughead exhales. “‘Night, Betts.”

It takes only a few minutes for her eyes to flutter closed, carrying her off into slumber.

———

When she wakes, she’s enveloped in warmth. The flannel is an exquisite weight over her shoulders, pressing her deeper into the mattress. It almost feels as though Jughead himself is wrapped around her, his warmth seeping into her bones. 

He _is_ wrapped around her. 

Betty jolts upright, heartbeat accelerating in the blink of an eye. Jughead makes a little noise of displeasure at the sudden movement, and she watches, breath caught, as he slowly comes into consciousness.

He’s got a bleary-eyed, bewildered look on his face, like it’s much too early to process something like this—something like waking up entangled with his childhood best friend, his shirt slipping off her shoulders and her lips parted in shock.

“Betts,” she hears him say, mouth forming around her name slowly, hesitantly. Something in her belly tugs her closer, the elbow she’s propped up on sliding out from underneath her to fall back into the mattress just as Jughead pulls her into him.

She instinctively gasps when their lips meet, but she’s quick to reciprocate. Hands carding through his hair, she shifts her hips to lay more comfortably as he moves to hover over her. There’s a split second where he leans back, and she can see in his eyes that he’s about to ask if this is okay, so she kisses him in reply. _Yes. This is okay._

It’s more than okay, really. She’s had plenty of first kisses, but none like this, none where her blood sings and her mind goes quiet in a bizarre juxtaposition. His hand is cradling her cheek, the other one tucked under the curve of her waist, and the way he’s holding her feels like he’s giving her all of him.

She’s smiling now, and it makes it harder to kiss, but Jughead doesn’t seem to care. She makes a pleased noise and he exhales in a laugh against her mouth, fingers curling into her hair.

And then she gasps, their lips parting with a smack. “The storm!”

Jughead looks dazed, quite frankly, eyes dark and hooded, but there’s amusement there too. “That’s what you were thinking about?”

“I…” Betty pushes gently against his chest, and he leans back to let her wiggle out from under him. “The storm,” she repeats, scampering to the window and throwing back the curtains.

To her relief, it looks as though the weather has calmed down considerably. The snowfall is much lighter than before, the wind now reduced to a whisper. There’s a substantial amount of snow on the ground, but Betty’s car is all-wheel drive and the roads have likely been cleared by now. 

“It looks like the storm’s cleared up,” she tells Jughead, turning to face him. His gaze darts down to somewhere around her torso and back up, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She pulls his flannel tighter around her body, her face heating again as she remembers how little she’s currently wearing. (But she likes the way he’s looking at her—nervous and smitten and wanting.)

“We should get going soon if we’re going to make it to the wedding.” Climbing back onto the bed, she slips a few buttons through the loops to draw the two sides of the flannel together. “The snow is pretty deep still, but we should be able to get onto the main road.”

Jughead nods, looking a little dejected. He’s half-sitting up in the bed, hair tousled and lips reddened. “Eager to get out of here, are we?”

“Juggie.” She kisses away his frown. “Our best friends are getting married today. We have plenty of time tomorrow, and the next day, to figure out…what…this is.”

“I’ve known what this is for ten, twelve years,” he murmurs. She gapes. “On my end, at least.”

“ _Jug_.” She falls back into him with a sigh, unable to rein in her smile. A few more minutes of soft, languid kisses and Betty’s sure she’s floating. If she’d known at sixteen that _this_ is what it’s like to kiss Jughead Jones, she’s pretty sure she’d have spontaneously combusted.

“I’ve wanted this since high school, too,” she admits. They’re both lying on their side now, only a few inches of space between them.

Jughead cups her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip, and the look in his eyes could keep her warm forever. “Better late than never, right?” he teases.

“Definitely.” Her giggle is lost in the slide of their lips as he pulls her back to him.

———

“B! There you are!” Veronica rushes over to greet her friend, the delicate train of her wedding dress trailing behind her. “Thank God the storm cleared up. I was so worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“Me too,” Betty admits, sinking into the hug Veronica gives her. The bride-to-be is radiant, rivaling the glamorous chandeliers and high ceilings surrounding them.

Veronica smooths her hands over her hips. “So.” Her voice is dangerously sweet. “How was your little impromptu sleepover?”

Betty smiles slyly, tongue poking at her teeth. “Good.” She catches Jughead’s eye then, and has to bite her cheek to keep from giggling at the way he waggles his eyebrows.

One dark eyebrow pops upward. “Betty Cooper!” Veronica exclaims delightedly. “Tell me _everything_.” With that, she loops her arm through Betty’s and pulls her into her dressing room. “Let’s get your dress on. Say goodbye, loverboy. We’ll see you in a few.”

Betty waves her fingers at Jughead as she’s tugged into the room. A smile curves at his lips. _To be continued_ , he mouths.

She’s still smiling as the door shuts between them.

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it! My wonderful Secret Santa giftee @soyforramen, I hope this fic was a fun holiday gift for you and that it lived up to your expectations. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Everyone else, thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated, if you feel so inclined to leave them. Until next time! <3


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